"Was it wrong," she said, "in a girl whose heart was free, to choose
for her husband not only a charming companion, but a man of noble
genius, born to an honorable position, a gentleman; the equal of
myself, a gentlewoman?"
"You love him?" asked her father.
"Father!" she said, laying her head upon his breast, "would you see me
die?"
"Enough!" said the old soldier. "I see your love is inextinguishable."
"Yes, inextinguishable."
"Can nothing change it?"
"Nothing."
"No circumstances, no treachery, no betrayal? You mean that you will
love him in spite of everything, because of his personal attractions?
Even though he proved a D'Estourny, would you love him still?"
"Oh, my father! you do not know your daughter. Could I love a coward,
a man without honor, without faith?"
"But suppose he had deceived you?"
"He? that honest, candid soul, half melancholy? You are joking,
father, or else you have never met him."
"But you see now that your love is not inextinguishable, as you chose
to call it. I have already made you admit that circumstances could
alter your poem; don't you now see that fathers are good for
something?"
"You want to give me a lecture, papa; it is positively l'Ami des
Enfants over again.
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